


Cupid's Chokehold

by blarfkey



Series: Skyhold High School AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Cheerleader!Shay, Enemies to Friends to Lovers (sort of), F/M, Football Captain!Iron Bull, Foster Care, Guest starring/cameo appearance Maria Cadash, Horny Teenagers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nerd!Solas, angry baby Solas, don't worry they stay that way, from Girl with the Arrow Tattoo, gratuitous love of art, virgin teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/pseuds/blarfkey
Summary: Shay Cadash knows only a few facts about the new kid.1. His name -- Solas Evanuris, which sounds pretentious as hell.2. He never speaks in her class and yet --3. He can't stop running his mouth until someone inevitably stuffs him in a supply closet.4. When you rescue him from said supply closet, he gets real pissy5. There is nothing about him that she should find attractive and yet she can't stop thinking about him.AKA what started out as a fun snippet and turned into a whole ass thing. What can I say? I love High School AUs
Relationships: Female Cadash/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Solas/Shay, Varric/Maria
Series: Skyhold High School AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900957
Comments: 20
Kudos: 29





	Cupid's Chokehold

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song by Gym Class Heroes that greatly reminds me of my first HS boyfriend, haha.

The new kid is weird. Shay doesn't know from experience, exactly. That's just what everyone tells her. As far as she knows, he's the quiet kid in the back of her AP history class, but Shay struggles enough trying to keep up with all of the notes that she doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to the back of the class.

History is not her best subject, and she may have bitten off more than she could chew with this class. She was too eager to prove that most cheerleaders are not vapid idiots, but whatever.

In fact, about three weeks go by with her only catching glimpses of the new kid as he ducks out of class when the bell rings. He's completely bald, which makes his ears stick out even more than they usually would. Sometimes she'll catch a shadow of peach fuzz on his head.

Otherwise the most interesting thing about him is what she hears about him.

"That new kid is mouthy as fuck," says Iron Bull at lunch that day.

"Really?" she asks, watching in morbid fascination as he covers his fries in an unholy amount of mustard.

Even one packet of mustard is one too many.

"He never says a word in my class."

"Well he talks a lot of shit to the other guys on the team. Though they deserve it; they’re starting that shit back up with Cole."

Shay narrows her eyes. "Are you serious? I thought we all decided he was too strange to mess with. I specifically said he was under my protection."

Iron Bull shrugs and eats half the hamburger in one bite.

"He's tall, but he's skinny as hell. They shoved his ass in a locker," he says over a mouthful.

"They _shoved_ him in a locker? I thought people only did that in movies."

"That's not all I heard."

Varric plops down beside her. "No one knows where he comes from. Every time you ask you get a different answer. Sera says he's in the foster care system."

"That sucks." Shay feels a stab of guilt. Maybe she should be looking out for him more. She had no idea he was having this hard of a time.

"Has anyone talked to him?" she asks.

"I did," says Varric.

"Of course you did," says Iron Bull. "Honestly, why haven't you joined the newspaper at this point? You know everything about everything."

"Because non-fiction is boring and stifling and doesn't have enough murders. At least not at this school."

"He keeps picking fights with the team, we might have a murder," says Iron Bull darkly before cramming the rest of the hamburger in his mouth.

"If you don't say something to them, I will," Shay warns. "I'd love to see them try to shove me in a locker."

"They're too afraid you would poison them the next day."

"The fact that my family was involved in the mafia is only a rumor."

Varric just gives her a side-eyed look. So maybe her grandpa used to run with the Carta. So what?

It's not like Varric's ancestors are any cleaner for that matter.

"Don't worry, Shay, I'll talk to the boys. They generally know Cole is off limits, but this fucking sophomore wants to throw his weight around cause he thinks he'll be running shit after I leave next year."

"I thought Krem was heir to the throne," says Varric.

"He is. This guy is just an idiot."

"Hopefully the new guy will chill out if they leave Cole alone," Shay says.

Iron Bull snorts. "I wouldn't hold your breath. He's an arrogant fuck."

He didn’t seem that arrogant to her, but then again, she’s never heard him speak. But Iron Bull has an uncanny way of assessing someone down to their marrow with just an observation, so she doesn’t dismiss his judgement. 

“Hey, speaking of arrogant fucks, are we still meeting after school for that poetry assignment?” Shay asks Varric.

He winces, guilty. “Sorry, Shay. I got detention.”

“What the hell, Varric! We planned this out two days ago,” Shay cries. “There are other ways to hang out with your girlfriend, you know!”

“Yeah, but this is the most convenient. It’s not like I can take her home with me.”

It’s a subtle jab -- Shay’s known Varric since they attended the same pretentious private pre-school, and she’s one of the only people privy to the fact that his parents are barely-functioning alcoholics. 

“Guilt tripping is not getting you out of this one,” she growls. “That assignment is due in two days, and you said you would help me!”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I will! I will help you. I promise. Tomorrow.”

“I have a game tomorrow!”

“It’s not until five thirty. I’ll hang around after school, and we’ll get it done before it starts. Everything will be fine.”

Shay glares at him, trying hard not to be comforted by his soothing, reasonable tone. He could talk his way out of a murder charge holding a smoking gun, and she refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“If you’re not there,” she says, pointing at him, “I’ll sic Cassandra on you.”

Cassandra, well over six feet and the only woman on the football team, inspires fear in many with just her name alone. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

“And tell Maria I said hi,” she adds. 

“She’s your cousin. You could tell her yourself.”

“If I got d-hall, Coach De Fer would execute me on the field. Cheerleaders are supposed to be models of decorum.”

Iron Bull snorts loudly at that, and Shay jabs him in the ribs with her elbow. 

Shay starts paying more attention after that. The new kid's name is Solas Evanuris, which sounds pretentious as hell. He's remarkably quiet during class, never raising his hand to answer questions. At first she wonders if he struggles like her, but then she catches sight of his first pop quiz grade when Mr. Trevelyan passes them back.

Solas aced it with a score that put her average B minus to serious shame. 

He's also tall as hell and stringy like a sapling. Which -- duh -- she's a dwarf so everyone is taller to her. But Solas stands taller than any other elf she's seen. He's gotta clear at least six feet. If he wasn't so skinny, he could play for the Chargers.

Besides Cole, he doesn't seem to have any other friends. She catches the two of them eating lunch in the breezeway when the weather is nice and walking to class together on occasion. But besides that, Solas coasts through school utterly alone. It has to be by choice -- any new kid, no matter how weird, is always met with at least some initial fascination by the rest of the student population.

After a while it becomes a habit, always keeping an eye out for his tall, pale figure and gleaming bald head.

"Hellooo?" A pair of fingers snap in her face, and Shay jerks, her gaze sliding back to her table.

Leliana looks at her, eyebrow raised.

"Sorry," says Shay, flushing. "What were we talking about again?"

Solas had strolled through the line for an extra spoon, and she had gotten distracted.

"Why are you always looking for him?" Leliana asks.

Busted. Shay should have seen this coming -- Iron Bull always notices little things, but he’s nice enough to keep his mouth shut. Leliana does not, which is one of the reasons why Shay sometimes prefers her Tuesday/Thursday lunches with the boys.

"I'm not _always_ \-- I mean, who are you talking about?"

"Solas, of course. Every time you're distracted, he's nearby," says Leliana.

Oh God, was she really that obvious? Shit -- deflect! "Don't you think it's a little weird watching me watch him?"

"I think it's weird that you're getting defensive at a simple question," Leliana counters, cool as a cucumber.

"I'm _not_ getting --"

"Okay!" says Josephine, slapping her hand on the table. "Shay -- there's no point in hiding that you're rather taken with him. Leliana -- stop interrogating her. You know she hates it. Alright? Alright."

Leliana rolls her eyes, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. Josephine's natural diplomacy and Model UN experience has kept many a fight from breaking out in the cheer squad.

“I'm not taken with him," Shay says rather mulishly, unable to _not_ have the last word. "He's just new and therefore interesting by default. And it doesn't help that he doesn't fucking talk to anybody and nobody knows anything about him."

"He talks to me," says Josephine, looking surprised.

" _What_?"

"We have AP Lit together. Mrs. Bickling loves partnered reading. He has a very beautiful voice as a matter of fact."

Shay is instantly jealous. That’s two people who’ve spoken to him now.

"I have World History with him, and he _never_ talks to anyone."

Josephine shrugs. "To be fair, he doesn't have much of a choice but to talk to me. But he does have some fascinating interpretations of characters, and he did tell me I have a beautiful accent."

Leliana kisses her cheek. "You do have a beautiful accent."

Shay chooses that moment to dump her tray. She's seen enough kissing between those two to last the rest of her life.

That afternoon after school Shay hurries to cheer practice. Coach De Fer does _not_ tolerate lateness, and not even Shay's patented I'm Too Cute For Consequences smile would get her out of trouble. She's got at least a good ten minutes to spare, but it takes a hundred thousand years to corral her wild hair into a ponytail neat enough for The Iron Lady's standards.

She cuts through the hallway behind the cafeteria as a shortcut and stops abruptly at the sight of three football players trying to shove someone tall and gangly into The Supply Closet.

"Hey, you guys. What's up?" she cries out cheerfully, bouncing up the them.

Everyone freezes in an almost comical still life painting. Solas is crammed halfway through the closet, his hands gripping either side of the door frame. His legs are held up by two of the three football players while the third one supervises.

There is blood on his lip.

Shay tilts her head to the side. "Aren't you supposed to be at practice? Coach Blackwall doesn't like it when players are late."

The tallest football player groans and throws his hands skyward.

"God fucking damn it."

"Hi, Marcus!" she says brightly.

She suspects this is the sophomore giving Iron Bull trouble. He’s always giving _someone_ trouble.

"Wow, look at you. You can't go one day without being a total asshole to somebody. You know, there's probably a twelve step program for that."

"For once in your life can you mind your own fucking business?" Marcus growls.

"No. I'm incorrigible." So far, her favorite SAT word.

"Hey, he fucking started it," says Marcus, crossing his arms. "He runs his fucking mouth at us --"

" _You're_ the one who --" Solas starts, outraged.

Shay holds up a hand to him. "Hush, sweetie, the grown ups are talking."

He closes his mouth with an audible click and a mulish glare in his eyes.

God, he does not know when to quit, does he? Ten seconds away from getting his ass beat and he's still mouthing off.

"Yeah, I heard about that," she says to Marcus. "Bull said you were starting shit with Cole again. I thought I told you he was off limits."

"He's a fucking freak, and I don't take orders from you," sneers Marcus.

"Yeah, bitch," barks one of the freshmen. "Who the fuck do you think you --"

Before he has time to blink, before Solas can do more than open his mouth to start more shit, Shay whips around and jabs the freshman between the ribs with the tips of her fingers. Solas collapses to the ground as both freshmen drop him -- the first doubled over in pain, the second jerking towards her before getting held back by Marcus.

Shay crosses her arms and looks up at him, unflinching. As if she would be intimidated by height alone after being one of the shortest people in any given room since kindergarten.

"I have friends everywhere," she says. "The second you lay one finger on me, you're a dead man walking."

The baby freshman looks like he desperately wants to throttle her.

"Dude, her dad is in the fucking _Carta_." Marcus hisses in his ear.

The freshman looks down at her with slightly widened eyes. He looks like he still might want to start some shit just to prove he's not as scared as he really is. Shay just ignores him.

"Look, Marcus, I don't want to see or _hear_ about you or your little baby goonies messing with Cole or the new kid again."

"Or what?"

"Or I'm going to send copies of those texts you sent me last year to your mother."

"I _watched_ you delete them!"

Shay laughs. "As if I didn't have them backed up specifically for blackmail, you fucking idiot."

"You can't fucking blackmail me."

"I have a picture of your tiny dick, Marcus. I can do whatever I want. Now you take Dumb and Dumber and get the hell to practice before Coach Blackwall also sees exactly what you're overcompensating for."

Marcus looks like he would dearly love to kill her. Shay gives him her best sunny cheer smile and waves.

"This isn't over," he hisses.

"Whatever helps you feel like a man," she says.

A vein throbs in his temple, but he jerks his head at the two baby freshmen, and they stalk off down the hall, muttering darkly to each other.

Shay turns back to Solas, offering him a hand which he pointedly ignores as he helps himself up.

"Are you alright?" she asks. "You're lucky I found you in time. That supply closet is notorious for locking only on the inside. You'd be stuck here overnight."

"I'm fine," he says shortly, brushing imaginary dirt off his sweater.

"You've got --" she waves her hand over her mouth. "Come here."

She stands up on her tippy toes and swipes away the blood that had smeared over his bottom lip. For a moment he's frozen under her touch, and then he jerks backward, pushing her hand away.

"I'm _fine_ ," he snaps. "I don't need any more of your hypocritical charity."

She gapes at him. "Excuse me. My _what_?"

He glares down at her, imperiously. "As if you are any better than they are, handing your so-called protection out to a scant few and leaving the others to fend for themselves. If you think I owe you a favor, you're sorely mistaken."

Okay, first of all, he talks like an AP literature professor. Secondly, what the _fuck_? She risks the wrath of Coach De Fer and this is what she gets for it?

"You know, I'm starting to see why people want to shove you into lockers and supply closets," she says. "Iron Bull was right, you really are an arrogant fuck. I did my _charitable deed_ for the day, and I'm going to go be hypocritical at cheer practice. You're welcome, by the way."

She stalks off with as much dignity as her stubby little legs can give her.

"So, I heard you tussled with Marcus yesterday," says Iron Bull, and Varric perks up beside him.

Shay struggles with the cardboard flap of her milk carton. Do they glue these fucking things together?

"He was -- trying to -- shove Solas in The Supply Closet," she says. “The make-out one.”

"The one that locks on the inside?" Varric asks.

"Yep." She digs her stubby fingernails in -- she's overdue for a new manicure but she keeps biting the tips of her fake nails until they crack.

" _Really_ now? Fuck, Shay, give it here."

She hands over the mangled milk carton, and Bull pops it open with the kind of deft strength she can only dream of.

"Yeah, he and two of the freshmen. They busted Solas's lip. But I handled it."

"I heard you used blackmail," says Varric. "I assume it's that pic he sent you last year?"

"Oh yeah. The moron thought I wouldn't keep extra copies. I'm thinking of sending it to his mother anyway."

"He didn't put his hands on you, did he?" Iron Bull asks darkly.

She shakes her head. "No, but the baby freshman almost did. Marcus had to hold him back."

" _Which one_?"

"I don't know! They all look the same to me -- stupid clothes, baby cheeks, try-too-hard attitude. His hair was dark and kind of curly?"

" _I'll_ take care of that," says Bull. "That motherfucker will live on the bench."

"You want Maria to key his car? Slash his tires?" Varric offers. “She heard about it, too. She’s ready to throw down.”

"That's sweet, but I let him off with a warning."

Shay smiles to herself. Maria got her first bloody nose beating up a fifth grader in the park when they were kids because he threw sand in Shay’s hair. It’s been years since she and her cousin had the closeness they experienced as children, but some things never change. 

"So, did Solas pronounce his undying love to you for rescuing him?" Varric asks.

Shay snorts. "No. Actually, he was an asshole."

"Cut the guy some slack. He was probably embarrassed," says Bull.

"To be rescued by a girl?" she shoots at him.

"No. To have a hot chick like you have to witness him getting crammed in a supply closet."

"Maybe," she says, shrugging. "I did my part. It's not my problem anymore."

  
  


_Josephine 6:45 PM_

_btw_

_Solas asked about you in class today_

_Shay 6:45 PM_

_oh yeah_

_He heard the carta rumor yesterday_

_Josephine 6:46 PM_

_oh he didn't mention that._

_He just asked if we were friends because we're on the cheer squad together._

_I told him glowing things about you, don't worry <3 _

_Shay 6:46 PM_

_IDC_

_he can think what he wants._

_Josephine 6:46 PM_

_Sure, darling._

  
  


Shay just loves it when teachers drop a Group Project Bomb two minutes before class lets out. And by loves it, she means _despises_ it. The class erupts in a flurry of whispers and scraping of chairs. Shay looks around for someone to partner with, but this is one of the rare classes where she doesn't know many people.

The bell rings and everyone starts leaving in groups and pairs. Shay packs up her pencil case, feeling a knot of anxiety in her stomach. Mr. Trevelyan always gives kids the option to do projects solo, but she's not good enough at this subject to trust herself with this alone.

To her surprise, Solas is standing outside the door when she walks through, his long fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of his messenger bag. Usually he's long gone, ducking his way through the hall, by the time she gets out. Their eyes meet briefly, and he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing against the stark white collar of his short sleeved dress shirt and why is she _looking_?

Determined to give him the attention she would spare a gnat, Shay jerks her gaze away and heads down the hallway, keeping to the lockers to avoid the crush of bodies.

He catches up to her in a few easy strides. "I would like to speak with you for a moment."

Seriously, what fucking teenager talks like that? He sounds like a teacher.

"Sorry, but I just got out of a lecture, and I'm not in the mood for another one," she says, trying to speed up, but her stubby fucking legs are no match for his.

In two strides he has stepped ahead and stops in front of her. She nearly runs into his chest, her eye roughly level with his sternum.

"Please," he says. "Just for a moment. No lecture -- I promise."

Shay looks up (and up) into his wide blue eyes (or are they grey? or are they purple? she can't tell from this distance) and sighs. She's a sucker, okay? Her own trick used against her. Pathetic.

"Ugh. Fine. But you have two minutes. If that. It's mozzarella cheese stick day in the snack line, and I'm not missing out."

"I would never deprive you of such a thing," he says gravely, and she squints at him, not sure if he's messing with her or not.

They squeeze through the double doors and out into the courtyard. She leads him to the side of the building, away from the brush of bodies streaming out, and looks up expectantly at him. Solas's skin looks especially pale in the sunlight, and she can see the hint of freckles across his nose and forearms.

"Well?" she asks.

He takes a breath, looking like he's steeling himself, and it's almost funny that he's more afraid of this conversation with her than getting the shit beat out of him by three football players.

"I owe you an apology," he says.

You could smack her over the head with a baseball bat and she wouldn't be more stunned.

"I'm sorry?"

"No. _I'm_ sorry. You helped me in a humiliating encounter, and I lashed out because of my pride. I was wary of your involvement because of my own prejudice, but it seems that your kindness is genuine. And so is your protection -- I have had no further trouble and neither has Cole."

There's a sickening lurch in her stomach. "What do you mean by prejudice?" she asks.

It doesn't happen often, but some elves get really fucking snobby about dwarves, and Shay has had enough of it as it is.

Solas hesitates, biting his lip in a way that's very distracting. "Because you're a . . . cheerleader."

Relief breaks open in her chest. Shay laughs. "This isn't a movie, Solas. Not every cheerleader is a raging bitch."

"Yes, I am realizing that. Your friend Josephine is also very kind."

"She's taken, by the way," Shay finds herself saying before she can stop. "Just so you know."

He cocks his head to the side, confused. "Alright?"

"Nevermind," Shay says hastily. "Thanks for the apology. I appreciate it."

This feels so stilted and awkward, oh my God.

"I appreciate not spending the night in a supply closet," he says.

She sticks her hand out -- why not? This whole conversation already feels like it should be between two eighty-year-olds. "Friends?"

He shakes her hand, the corner of his lip tugging up in a facsimile (another SAT word, she's on a roll!) of a smile. His hand completely dwarfs hers (pun intended), his fingers long enough to wrap around her wrist.

Shay has her own hard swallow, reluctantly letting go.

It's official. She's kind of into him.

"I noticed you didn't have a partner for the project. Would you like to work together?" he asks.

Her heart rate spikes. Yep. It's a problem.

"Yeah, sure!" she says, and it sounds a little too loud to her ears.

He nods. "Very well. I will leave you to your mozzarella sticks. I'm sure we'll talk more about it in class tomorrow."

"Do you want to eat lunch with me?" she blurts out. "And, you know, my friends?"

He hesitates, looking clearly uncomfortable, and she wants to slap herself.

"They don't bite," she adds.

Well, Iron Bull bites, but only if you ask him to.

"That's a very kind offer, but I . . . am not very social, I'm afraid. Thank you. I will see you in class?"

Is it her imagination or does he almost sound hopeful?

"Yep! See you later, Solas."

She gives him her best sunny smile and then heads to the cafeteria before she can ask any other dumb shit like _are you single_ ? _Do you like short girlfriends?_ Like he would ever give her an answer that satisfies her.

Shay looks down at the rubric for their map project and despairs.

"So, what are your first thoughts?" Solas asks her.

After breaking down the rubric, Mr. Trevelyan had let the class break up into groups to brainstorm ideas. Solas and Shay had staked claim to the far right corner by the window, pushing two desks together facing each other, which might have been a mistake. Having Solas's face _right there_ and at eye level is proving very distracting.

He has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Not nearly as many as she does, but freckles always seem cuter on other people.

"Uh." Her mind blanks, and she glances down at the instructions. Every intelligent thought she's ever had flees like cockroaches when a light’s flipped on.

"Sorry, it's just a little overwhelming," she admits.

God, she looks so stupid, doesn't she? He's probably like a genius -- most of the kids in her AP classes are. It always seems to come so easy for them. She never sees them slaving away in study hall.

"That's understandable," he says. "Perhaps I was too hasty. We should break this down into something more manageable."

"You're fine," she says. "I'm just kind of . . . dumb? You should probably have asked someone else."

He gives her a flat stare. "Stupid people don't take AP classes."

"You know anyone can sign up for these right? It doesn't prove anything."

"Your questions and comments in class do," he says. "I always enjoy hearing them. You have unique perspectives, and it's clear you analyze the material beforehand."

Oh my God. Oh my God. He's paid attention to her in _class_ ? He remembers her _questions_? Suddenly she's trying to remember every thing she's ever said, every stupid remark she's ever made.

"I'm not dissatisfied with my pick of partners, and I don't believe you are inadequate," he adds softly.

Her face must look beet red -- she can feel it, stretching all the way to the tops of her ears.

"Thanks," she says. "So -- uh -- okay. What are _your_ thoughts?"

"Let's summarize, first, to get our bearings. We're supposed to create a themed map charting the spread of something across the countries of southern Thedas. He gives an example of religion or agriculture --"

Shay makes a face. "Everyone's going to do that because it's easy."

He looks up at her, eyes sharp. From this distance she can tell they're a sort of blue-ish purple she's never seen before.

"You don't want easy?"

"Easy is boring, and if I get bored I'm just going to half-ass this whole thing," she says.

"I also would prefer something more unique that shows we've put a lot of thought into it."

Her eyes catch on the intended final outcome of the map -- a replica created through traditional or digital means, annotated and labeled according to their theme -- and she gets an idea.

"Maybe . . . we could do something about art?" she suggests. "Like how certain trends will spread from different trading cities in, like, architecture or pottery or something?"

His eyes light up. "Or we could take one art style and track its movement over time."

"Like how you can see the same kind of arrangement from old elven frescoes in more modern stained glass?"

" . . . You know about elven frescoes?"

He looks stunned. It would be almost insulting if elven fresco art wasn’t a little obscure.

"I used to look at them a lot in middle school, trying to, like, draw my own," she admits.

Why is she telling him this? God, she's such a nerd.

"Really? Do you still have them?"

She laughs, a burst of nervous energy. "Oh no. No no no. Those drawings will _never_ see the light of day. They are _terrible._ Trust me. I was twelve and super fixated on color blocking and I had no idea what I was doing --"

She's babbling. God, she's babbling. Someone come and shut her up.

"Do you still draw?" he asks.

He doesn't look put off in the slightest. In fact, he's actually leaning across the desk a little bit.

"Not as much anymore," she says. "Cheer kind of takes over my life, and when I'm not doing _that_ I'm working my ass off doing homework. So . . ."

"It's a shame," he says, sounding genuinely regretful.

"Yeah, I miss it sometimes. Do you draw?"

"I paint. I've actually made elven frescos before."

 _"Really?_ Like with real plaster?"

Now it's her time to gawk, leaning over the desk.

"Yes. I mixed it myself."

Holy shit. Now there's no way in _hell_ he's ever seeing the dink sketches she used to do.

"You got any pictures? I would love to see that!"

"No, unfortunately. It's . . . I don't have them any longer."

Shay remembers Varric mentioning foster care and wisely doesn't press for more details.

"If you make any more, would you show me?"

She offers him a hesitant smile, and he returns it. Something flutters in her stomach.

"I would love to."

Mr. Trevelyan swoops past their corner, checking in on their progress, and they hastily return back to work.

When she gets home that night, Shay thumbs through her old sketchbooks. Most of it deeply embarrasses her, but she can see the potential in some of her work, the cool ideas behind shoddy execution. Putting off her math homework for a little bit, she takes her pencil and doodles instead.

At first they meet up at the public library after school, but Shay can’t keep her voice down when she gets excited so they reconvene at Solas’s place before someone kicks them out.

Wynne, Solas's foster mother, makes _excellent_ cookies. And she makes a lot of them. Apparently Solas has a massive sweet tooth, which surprises her. From his clothes -- sweaters and button downs and slacks, like he's going to a job interview -- to his vocabulary to the occasional wildly arrogant statement that slips out, Shay has him pegged for one of those teenagers who shun their own kind and try way too hard to be mature.

Sweets seem too childish for his sensibilities, but he's matching her cookie for cookie, and Shay has eaten a _lot_ of cookies.

"There has to be like crack or magic or something in these cookies," she says around a mouthful of cookie. "I literally cannot stop eating them."

"I agree," he says. "I actually followed her recipe once -- meticulously, step by step -- and the results were . . . deeply unsatisfying. It was missing something, but I'm not sure what."

"It's love," says Wynne, carrying in another plate of cookies. "My, you two certainly powered through the first batch. Don't overdo it, or you won't have room for dinner. Would you like to stay for dinner, Shay?"

"Yes!" she says -- almost yells. "I mean, yes, please."

Wynne chuckles. "Do you like stew?"

"I will eat anything you give me," Shay tells her fervently.

"Aren't you darling?" Wynne gives Solas a pointed look over Shay's head. The tops of his cheeks go a little red, and he ducks down.

"Thank you, Wynne," he says softly.

"I'll leave you to it," says Wynne, patting his shoulder. "Dinner is in a couple of hours."

Shay waits until she leaves before leaning over the dining room table and hissing, "Holy _shit_ . Can I move in with you? Her food is magical, this house is adorable, and she's an _angel_. My grandma is evil."

"Wynne is very kind," he says. "I am very grateful for her. But I'm afraid this house only has two bedrooms."

"That's fine. I don't take a lot of space. I'm travel sized for your convenience."

That startles a laugh out of him, his normally placid expression sparking to life. Shay's starting to get a little addicted to getting that rise out of him.

"I will have to take measurements of the bed and get back to you," he says.

Wait -- what? Did he just imply -- no. No way. He's a nerd who took it too literally. There's no way he's actually _suggesting_ they share --

Shay clears her throat, a little red-faced herself, and gets back to her research.

Dinner -- a thick hearty stew of meat and vegetables -- proves just as magical as Shay expects. Solas eats with impeccable table manners. and between him and Wynne, Shay feels a bit like a pig at a trough. For two people of entirely different sets of genetics, Solas and Wynne seem cut from the same cloth.

Or maybe Solas just seems so old that he fits in with someone Wynne's age. God, what does that say about her that she’s so into it?

The hair gods have blessed the day with low humidity. Usually Shay keeps her mane tamed into her cheer ponytail or a long thick braid. But today she leaves it free to spill over her shoulders and down her back like some kind of medieval cloak, held back from her face with a simple black headband.

She can feel people's eyes on her all day -- she draws all kinds of stares when her hair is loose. The curls can get a little wild -- it roughly doubles her volume as a person -- and are a bright red that's common for dwarves but rare for humans and elves. 

Solas is no different. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her as they push the desks together in their claimed corner of the room.

"The beast has been set loose today," she says as they sit down.

He blinks at her. "I'm sorry?"

"My hair."

"Ah." The tips of his ears get red. "I apologize. I didn't mean to stare."

She gives him a sunny grin. "It's okay. Everybody stares at it. It's kind of hard not to, in its full glory. My grandmother says it’s the only beautiful thing about me."

In hindsight, that last statement should not have been said as a joke. Shay winces at herself. She's internalized her grandmother's criticisms to the point of absurdity that makes her laugh, but it tends to awkwardly horrify other people.

"Your grandmother lied to you," he says, pulling out his meticulously organized notes.

"So, you're saying it's ugly?" she asks, eyebrows raised, rather taken aback.

"No." His eyes flick up to hers. "Everything about you is beautiful. Not just your hair."

He says it so matter-of-factly that it almost doesn't feel like a compliment. Shay is stunned, regardless, in a rare moment of speechlessness.

She knows her face is bright, bright red.

"Thank you," she manages to stammer.

He looks up at her again, this time surprised at her reaction. "Surely you already know this?"

"I -- uh-- not really?"

How to tell him that every teenage girl feels completely fucking hideous without ruining the moment? Especially her, a dwarf, freakishly short compared to her human classmates, her face wide and full instead of lean and narrow like elves, her body stocky and built more for field hockey (of which Lace Harding is the undisputed champion) rather than cheerleading.

Before they can get into any of _that_ , Shay pulls out her map sketches.

"So, I'm thinking we should color code the spread by century."

They don't speak about her looks again, but the comment echoes in her head for days afterward, often making her smile like an idiot until someone asks what she's thinking about.

"How dumb your face looks," she's always quick to reply.

Only Varric looks at her knowingly, but he keeps his smug mouth shut.

The project takes three weeks. Not only do they have to compile all of this research into a five page paper, but they also have to draw a detailed map. A lot of students are going the digital route, but Shay and Solas both want something tangible and beautiful and a work of art just like their subject matter.

It takes many long evenings after cheer practice, usually spent at Wynne's house and occasionally the library if they want a big table. The only reason why Shay is even allowed out of the house so often is because apparently Wynne used to babysit her dad a million years ago.

Wynne's house is a happy house -- full of potted plants and couches with thick homemade blankets spread out on the backs and framed paintings of flowers. And it always smells of food -- cookies, bread, brownies, pizza, whatever. No one starves here.

Which is why Shay never invites Solas to her place -- not only would he have to deal with the scrutiny of her father but also the comments of her racist grandmother who is _nothing_ like Wynne at all.

When they get tired of the map, she and Solas will often work on their respective homework together, fueled by second helpings of dinner. He is scary smart, just as she assumed, but he mostly keeps his arrogance in check, and he never makes her feels stupid when math threatens to give her an aneurysm.

And when Shay especially doesn't feel like going back home, they just hang out.

Solas teaches her chess -- which she's embarrassingly bad at. What’s worse, she can tell he makes intentionally bad moves to go easy on her, and it still doesn’t work.

"You're really good at this,” she grumbles. “You know we have a chess team, right? We actually went to nationals last year."

"Oh?"

He glances up from the board, a spark of interest in his eyes. Maybe she can distract him into doing something stupid and then steal his rook. He wouldn’t notice, right?

"Yeah, Iron Bull is the captain."

If he had hair, his eyebrows would disappear into it. Oh, he’s definitely distracted. 

" . . . Iron Bull."

"Yep."

Her hand drops out of sight and inches down the side of the board. His rook sits in the furthest left row.

"The football captain?"

The tips of her finger and thumb slide up over the edge of the board and lightly grip the base of the rook. 

"Yep. He's scary smart. He tutors me in math sometimes. You should play him sometime."

Without breaking eye contact, Solas covers her thieving hand with his. 

“Nice try,” he says. “You’ll have to be sneakier than that.”

“Oh? You want sneaky? I’ll show you sneaky. Get me a deck of cards.”

Shay teaches him diamondback, which is a mistake. At first she got some satisfying payback by utterly annihilating him in the first few rounds. But it takes little time before he gets dangerously good at it and Shay resorts to cheating, which is so much easier with cards. Thanks to Varric, it takes Solas a while to catch on to her. 

So they compromise by watching cooking competition shows and yelling at the contestants.

It takes very little time for Shay to become accustomed to this routine, even if it leaves almost no time for herself in between school, practice, games, and the project.

The night they put the finishing touches on their project, Solas props up their work on the table and looks at it with pride. Shay tries to hide her growing despair.

"Your line art is perfect. You have quite the steady hand."

She tries really hard not to blush at this praise and fails miserably. Maybe he will think she's sunburned from yesterday’s game.

"Thanks. Your watercolor, though, that's what gonna get us an A. It's beautiful. How did you make it look so old?"

"I dipped it in tea before I painted it."

"I would have never thought of that."

"It's an old trick. Wynne suggested it, actually."

She gives him a sideways look. "You two are like old souls, aren't you?"

"Yes," he says softly. "As I said before, she is very kind. I am very lucky."

Her hand slips into his, her stubby, ink-stained fingers sliding between his and clutching at his palm.

It's a calculated risk -- she's seen the way he looks at her sometimes, the _everything about you is beautiful_ , the long evenings laughing at the TV screen. She also knows how he shrinks away from contact, walking the hallways with his shoulders hunched and flinching when someone bumps into him, his excuses to avoid her friends, the superiority that slips out on occasion and that has caused more than one tense conversation between them.

For a moment Solas looks down at their joined hands, startled. She waits for him to pull away with a murmured apology, always polite, always a gentleman. Instead he closes his fingers around her hand, the tips nearly reaching her wrist.

"We do good work," she says, trying to be casual despite her heart pounding.

"We do."

Shay bites her lip. Her first bet paid off - now to up the pot. "Would you want to . . . still hang out even though the project is done?"

He looks down at her. "I was about to ask you the same question. I think Wynne would be rather devastated if you stopped coming over."

"Well, we can't devastate Wynne. She's too pure for this world."

"Indeed." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and at her heart.

Shay squeezes his hand before slipping it away. "I gotta get home before my dad sends out a search team. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'll make sure our masterpiece gets to school safe and sound."

"You mean our _mapsterpiece_ ," she says, grinning.

He rolls his eyes and groans. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"You loved it. Admit it."

"Only under torture."

"I can think of a few ways to make you talk," she says. She swears she doesn't mean to flirt, but it slips out so easily.

"So can I. And I think mine are infinitely more fun."

The blush rises up to her hairline. He's not implying what she thinks he's implying. He's too oblivious for that. Look at him! He dresses like a 70-year-old, and he talks like one too. No way he's got any action or experience to back up that kind of remark. He's probably thinking something violent, and she's a dirty perv.

But she has to ask. "How so?"

Before she can hear his reply and settle the debate once and for all, the alarm on her phone goes off.

Shay sighs. "Alright. I really do have to get home. My dad is going to freak."

"I will see you tomorrow," says Solas.

Maybe it's her imagination. It's probably definitely her imagination. But she thinks he sounds disappointed.

They get an A. Mr. Trevelyan had nothing but praise for their presentation, but it doesn't feel real until Shay gets the rubric back. He returns it to her with their paper a week later. For the past two days Solas has been absent from school. He doesn't have a phone (of _course)_ so Shay has no way to check on him without marching to his house, which feels invasive.

"You know he's not here," says Varric, annoyingly smug.

"I'm not looking for him," she says, tearing her eyes away from the lunch line.

Iron Bull snorts and shoves half the packet of french fries in his mouth.

"Hold on a sec," says Varric, getting up from the table.

She sees him head over to a tall, pale kid she recognizes instantly as Cole leaving the lunch line. Varric gestures to their table and pats Cole on the back. Cole looks over uncertainly, and Shay catches his eye, giving him a sunny smile.

After some delineation, Cole approaches their table, reluctantly, an encouraging Varric behind him, not giving him much choice.

"Hey, Cole," Shay says.

"Solas isn't here," says Cole, his wide blue eyes blinking from behind blonde fringe Shay desperately wants to trim.

"Yeah, we know," says Iron Bull kindly. "You can still come sit with us."

Shay scoots over, giving Cole room to sit next to her. He does so with some hesitance, looking over at her.

"I know what you did for me," he says quietly. "Thank you."

Did Solas tell him about their "orders"? Cole's always had a reputation for knowing things he shouldn't -- it's part of the reason why most of their classmates gave him a wide, wide berth. Shay included, she realizes with sudden guilt.

As much as she tries to protect Cole, she doesn't go out of her way to befriend him. Not in the way Solas or Varric does.

"It's nothing," she says firmly, and it is. It's the most basic level of kindness, and she resolves to do better.

Judging from the look she shares with Iron Bull, he shares the same thought. They make extra effort to talk to Cole for the rest of lunch, asking about his classes, if he likes any girls (a confused no, which Shay files away for later).

She doesn’t mention Solas at all, which she should get a goddamn medal for, honestly. Even still, after a surprisingly pleasant lunch, Cole appears silently beside her as she heads for class.

"He's sick," he says without preamble. "He complained of a headache, and he sneezed a lot the day before he left."

"Who?" she asks, feigning ignorance.

Cole looks down at her -- he's nearly as tall as Solas -- and his eyes gleam with the kind of twinkling wisdom funny old wizards have in movies. As if he could read her mind.

"You'll see him tomorrow," he says simply. "Goodbye, Shay."

"See ya later, Cole."

She watches him peel off for the library, a new fondness blooming in her chest. If anyone says any shit to that kid, she will rip their eyes out _personally._

The next morning Shay wakes up an extra half hour early. It's pep rally day, and that always puts an extra bounce in her step. It also means she has to take extra care in getting ready, dressing in her cheer uniform, packing an extra set of clothes in her backpack, and trying to tame her hair into a ponytail with a bow that isn't swallowed completely by her monster curls.

And if she spends a little extra time on her eyeliner and tinted lip balm, it's certainly not for Solas, who would probably rather have (another) public beating before going to a pep rally. And who probably will miss another day of school, so she really shouldn't get her hopes up.

Even so, her gaze keeps flickering around the coutyard as she makes her way to the gym, which is stupid because obviously everyone not performing the pep rally is in class right now.

God she has got to get a fucking grip. Shay tightens her ponytail and books it to the locker rooms, and her gaze doesn't stray one more time.

People make fun of cheerleaders all the time. She gets it. Every cheerleader in a movie is a fucking bitch and they're all vapid and they're all stupid and they're all popular for being hot, which apparently is some kind of hate crime against sapient species.

Solas isn't the first person to assume those things about her, and he won't be the last, and it gets really fucking annoying. 

But hearing the band blast away behind her, seeing the crowd of her peers gather in the bleachers, watching Leliana do five somersaults in a row to grand applause or the different athletic teams gather and laugh together as the excitement builds and builds in the room until it's almost suffocating in the best way -- Shay wouldn't trade it for anything, not even to get people off her back.

She's practically vibrating as principal McTaggart starts off, sharing his latest groan-inducing puns through the megaphone.

"Look." Leliana's voice hovers over her shoulder. "Left side bleachers. Middle of the third row from the bottom."

Shay scans the bleachers until she sees Solas's unmistakable form sitting exactly where Leliana said he would be. Her heartbeat skitters at the sight of him, back straight with perfect posture.

"He looks so stiff," says Leliana. "And miserable."

"That's just Solas," Shay says.

And it’s true. He looks like he’d rather be tarred and feathered. But he’s _here_. She tries hard not to assume it has anything to do with her, but that spark of hope in her chest refuses to die. Still, she plays it cool as McTaggart wraps up his speech, fighting the urge to stare at him while she coordinates the pyramid with Josephine.

Maybe when McTaggart finally _finally_ shuts up, Shay throws herself out there with more than her usual pep. And maybe she times her cartwheel so that she lands directly in front of Solas. Maybe she locks eyes with him, ponytail swinging, and blows him a kiss.

And maybe he blushes to the tips of his ears.

The pep rally is still ringing in her ears hours after it ends, especially in the quiet of the library. Despite the energy thrumming through her veins from it still, Shay's grateful for the respite of the library for study hall. It's almost always empty on a pep rally day, most people too keyed up for the upcoming game to want to study. Shay herself is also too restless for serious work, but she can at least pick out a poetry book for her upcoming AP lit assignment.

Of course the only book the library has on Mary Oliver taunts her from the top shelf, a good three feet above her head. Of course the stool she usually wheels over to spare her dignity is nowhere in sight. Shay sighs and resigns herself to get one of the library aides when she spots a familiar bald head sitting at one of the back tables.

Her stomach flutters, a grin tugging at her mouth. Quietly as she can, Shay creeps up behind him and covers his eyes with her hands.

To his credit he barely flinches.

"Guess who?" she whispers against his ear.

"Andraste herself," he answers, deadpan.

"Wrong. But that's incredibly flattering, if totally blasphemous."

"I've heard she was a redhead. Perhaps you have not found a person deserving of your worship."

Shay grins even though he can’t see it. "Are you volunteering yourself?"

"I would not dare presume my worthiness for such a thing."

Is this flirting? It sounds like some of the old poetry Mrs. Bickling has spent the last week on. On one hand, he just compared her to a goddess. On the other hand, if she learned anything about Solas during this project, it's his absolute disdain for religion. He never misses an opportunity to blaspheme.

God, why can't Solas talk to her like a normal fucking person so she can figure out if he fucking likes her or not?

Shay brushes her thumb against the shell of his ear experimentally. The barest shudder passes through him, and that's when he gently pulls her hands away from his face and turns around in his seat.

"It's just Shay," she says impishly.

"I'm still not convinced," he says, giving her a crooked smile.

She circles around the table and plops into the chair beside his. "I have to say, I was shocked to see you at the pep rally. Especially since Cole said you'd been sick?"

"It was louder than I expected," he admits. "And I must admit, that level of pageantry is not generally my cup of tea."

"No cup of tea is your cup of tea," she says fondly.

He snorts in quiet laughter. "Yes, that is true. But now that we're friends I felt I should see you in your element."

Friends. The word both thrills and disappoints her. 

"Oh? And what did you think?"

The image of his burning cheeks flash in her mind and she smirks.

"You're very enthusiastic," he says with a hint of irony.

"Well, sweetie, that is part of the job description."

"It suits you. Now that I know you, I no longer wonder why people worship the sun."

Again, that careless nonchalance, as if he's stating the weather, and not upending the entire way she sees herself. Again, she's struck speechless for a moment.

And then her pride kicks in. Shay Cadash, who spent years under the dutiful tutelage of her cousin, flirt extraordinaire Maria Cadash, is not going to be taken down by some stuffy shirt nerd who has never been kissed before in his life.

She leans across the table, allowing her ponytail to swing over her shoulder until the tips of it brush against his forearm, her hand placed just next to his so he can feel the heat of it. 

"If I'm your goddess divine, how would you worship me?" she murmurs, her eyes glinting. "Because I have a few ideas of my own."

Her gaze dips to his mouth and then the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows.

"And what are those?" he asks, his voice suddenly as hoarse as hers.

Oh, she’s got him now. She scoots even closer, learning her head forward until she knows he can smell her perfume, until his own eyes glance down at her lips and look back up at hers in unmistakable hunger.

"There's this book," she whispers, low enough that he strains forward to hear it, that he watches her mouth form the words. "In the poetry section? I need it for class. But it's on the top shelf and I can't reach it. I need a tall . . _. strong_ elf," she lets her eyes rake up and down his upper body, "to get it for me."

Her gaze returns back to his, and she notes with smug satisfaction that his breathing sounds rather shaky. This close she can count every freckle spread across his dumb, stupid face.

"As my goddess commands," he says.

Only the barest shreds of propriety are keeping her from crawling into his lap and giving him a first kiss he will _never_ forget (Maria would be so disappointed).

She thinks for a wild second that maybe he might do that _for_ her, but then Solas pushes his chair back and stands up.

God, he is freakishly tall for an elf. It’s very inconvenient right now.

"Show me this book," he says.

Shay reluctantly stands up and leads him to the poetry shelf.

"Mary Oliver," she says. "The purple one to the right."

"Excellent choice," he says, plucking it from the shelf with ease Shay tries hard not to resent him for.

Their fingers brush -- deliberately -- as he hands the book over to her and Shay gives him a sunny smile.

"My hero."

He swallows again, looking as though he would eat her whole.

Shay makes her decision right there.

She is going to kiss him. She is _absolutely_ going to kiss him. And it may bring everything they've built together so far to a screeching halt and she can never look him in the eye again.

Or it may be glorious.

“So, I have the rubric,” she says, changing the subject before she gets them both landed in d-hall for indecent display of affection. 

“Was his praise during our presentation not enough?” Solas teases.

“I mean, you don’t need to read it. I can just keep it.” 

“I did not say that.”

She reaches into her skirt pocket (Bless Coach De Fer, she insisted on pockets in every uniform) and pulls out the folded rubric she’s kept on her person. 

“So, you want it?” she asks. 

He looks at her, eyes blazing. “Yes. I want it.” 

Swallowing down another nervous flutter, she holds the paper out to him only to snatch it away when he reaches for it. The corner of her mouth curls up as they repeat this action a second time, until Solas wraps his long fingers around her arm and holds her still long enough to snatch the paper from her hand. 

He spares her an exasperated glare, his eyebrow raised, and if he wasn’t a foot and a half taller than her, Shay would have yanked his face to hers right then and there.

All week she works up the nerve to kiss him and then loses it. Solas has never been kissed before -- it has to be perfect. It has to be _memorable,_ in the best way. The last thing she wants is for him to look back on his first kiss and cringe.

The first hurdle is their height difference. The only time his face is close enough to kiss is when they're sitting, and that only happens in the library or when they watch TV. Besides, she doesn't want to kiss him at school because he might feel humiliated with an audience. And she doesn't want to do it in his house with _Wynne_ whistling away in the kitchen or passing by with laundry or a plate of cookies.

Which leaves her with very little opportunity and a growing frustration as the week progresses, looking at his stupid face and hearing his stupid voice and being helpless to do anything about it.

When Friday comes, Shay doesn't know if she's relieved to get a break from the sight of him or disappointed.

Until the bell rings at the end of AP World History. As per their new habit, Solas walks her to lunch, though he still doesn't sit with her friends, even on the days that Cole joins her.

"Do you remember when we spoke about elvhen frescoes?" he asks.

God it seems forever ago, right after their fragile truce. "Yes, of course."

"Wynne will be out of town this weekend. She said I could paint one on the back wall of her house, and I hope to make it a surprise for her when she returns on Monday. Would you like to come over tomorrow and watch me?"

Before she can answer, he grimaces. "Forgive me, that sounded rather arrogant. I just meant that you expressed interest in seeing how it's done."

Heart pounding in her chest, Shay fights to keep her face neutral. "I would love to," she says. "What time?"

"Any time in the afternoon. It will take me most of the day to complete it."

"You have to get it all done in one sitting, don't you?"

"Yes, that is true."

"I'll be there," she says.

Holy shit, a better opportunity could not have dropped in her lap if she had prayed for it. (which she may have, even though she's not very religious). Shay wakes up early and changes clothes at least five times, finally settling on a sky blue dress and a white cardigan. 

It's more simple and understated than she would normally wear, but maybe Solas likes that kind of thing? He definitely has more than enough of his own cardigans.

Her dad sits at the kitchen table, feet propped up on the chair opposite of him, working in his Sudoku book. Shay allows herself a moment of pure fondness, as he wiggles his house slippered feet, the afternoon sun glinting the gold tones of his red beard.

When she was younger they used to work out the puzzles together while the soap opera he pretended he didn't like blared on the television. But ever since high school started, Shay's weekends are full of games or practice or the social time she tries to cram in between the games and practice. Or homework. It’s been a long, long time since they worked any puzzles together.

"That's a nice outfit," her dad remarks as she skips into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Daddy. Josie got it for me last birthday."

She opens the fridge and takes out turkey and pickles and provolone cheese. Knowing how tricky frescoes are, Solas probably won't stop to eat until it's done. She pulls out the bread from the bread box and starts carefully crafting a sandwich.

"I'm making sandwiches, you want one?" she asks over his shoulder.

"Sure."

"Turkey sound good?"

"We have some ham in the back," he says.

Shay rolls her eyes. "I'm not giving you ham. It's full of salt, and you have a heart condition."

"One sandwich isn't going to kill me," he grumbles.

"It might," she sings. "You're lucky we don't make you full-on vegetarian."

"You better not. I'm not no fucking elf," he says.

Shay pauses, hand hovering over the sandwich bread. "Are all elves vegetarian?"

"I . . . have no idea," he says thoughtfully. "Why?"

"No reason," she says lightly, opening the fridge back up and pulling out the rest of the egg salad.

Whatever. Solas can have his pick. She wraps them carefully in wax paper and puts them in a freezer bag.

She compromises with her dad by packing on extra cheese in his turkey sandwich before carrying the plate over to the table.

"I'm heading over to Wynne's house," she says. "I'll probably be back after dinner, you know she likes to feed me.”

He raises an eyebrow. "Wynne's? I thought your history project was finished."

"It is. Now we're working on an art project."

The lie slips out easy and well-practiced. It's not that she likes lying to her dad, but they spent her entire freshman year arguing about boys -- every male platonic friend Shay ever had suddenly became suspected potential criminals/baby daddies. Not even Varric got a pass. Their current peace is hard fought, and Shay isn't going to disturb it for anything less than a sure thing.

Her dad perks up and Shay feels a slice of guilt. "You’re getting back into art again?"

"I'm . . . thinking about it," she says carefully, and it might not even be a lie. "Solas is really good. He's showing me how to do an elvhen fresco, just like they did in ancient times."

"From what I've heard, this fellow sounds pretty intelligent."

"He is. He's helped me a lot, especially in math."

"Good. You need more friends like that."

She walks around the table and kisses him on the head. He's exercising a lot of restraint in this conversation not to jump to conclusions, even though this is the one person he absolutely should be jumping to conclusions about.

“Love you, Daddy. I'll see you later."

"Give Wynne my regards, and make sure you use your manners."

"I always do."

Shay stops at the door, looking behind for her one last glimpse of her dad chewing on the end of his pen and muttering under his breath. She resolves to save him a morning soon and do something together. That’s another habit she should get back into.

Wynne's backyard is connected to the front through an adorable white picket gate.

"Knock knock," she calls out, unlatching. "Hide your drugs and alcohol!"

Just like the rest of the place, Wynne's backyard looks like something out of a magazine. There's a tall shade tree in the middle, raised flower beds off to the right with vegetables and wild flowers. A covered swing sits facing the flowerbeds and the back wall Solas is painting.

He's halfway done by the looks of it. Beige plaster has covered a section of the brick wall, the top half covered in bright red and yellow blooms hanging on tall green stems. Solas sits on the ground, various mason jars of color surrounding him.

"Wow," she says, craning her neck up. It reaches at least ten feet tall. She spies a ladder in the corner she didn't notice before. "I didn't know it was possible to make me feel smaller, but these flowers are _huge."_

 _"_ I started just after sunrise," he says, sparing her a quick glance.

"Have you eaten?"

" . . . No."

She rolls her eyes. "I had a feeling that would be the case, so I brought sandwiches. You should take a break."

"I have very limited time until the plaster dries," he protests.

"Its five minutes, Solas. Eat a fucking sandwhich before you pass out."

He sighs. "You're right. I am starting to get a headache."

He pulls himself to his feet. His bare feet. Shay's eyes travel from the pale elegant bones of his ankle to the ripped cut off jeans to the sleeveless green tunic covered in smears of red paint that travel even up to the side of his neck.

His arms are bare.

Shay's brain short circuits. It's like all those period romances Josephine adores, where just a flash of ankle sends the hero swooning. Except Solas is the lady and Shay is the man who can't tear her eyes away from the pale, freckled skin of his arms, which are not as twiggy as she thought they would be.

Where are the cardigans? The slacks? The old man clothes? Where did the _muscles_ come from? How the hell did he manage to get shoved into so many lockers?

"Shay?"

"Right!" She tears her gaze away from his arms and back to his face, fighting hard not to blush. "Sandwiches!"

She is definitely kissing this boy today. She is going to give him the kiss of his goddamn life. His little nerd heart is going to explode.

He leads her to the covered swing, and she pulls out the bag of sandwiches and two water bottles from her backpack.

"I have two kinds -- turkey and egg salad. I didn't know if, like, all elves are vegetarians."

"No more than any other race would be," he says. "But it was kind of you to worry."

Too late she realizes that she's actually _seen_ him eat meat when she stayed for dinner and curses her stupidity. Solas, bless him, does not mention this fact.

And he takes the egg salad.

"It looks beautiful so far," she says, gesturing at the wall. "What kind of flowers are they?"

 _"_ Thank you. And they're gladiolas. It's her favorite flower, but the blooms are short lived. Now she will have them forever."

Shay gives him a warm smile. "That's so sweet. You two are so adorable together."

Solas looks down at his paint smeared hands for a moment. "Wynne has shown me more kindness in three months than my family has my entire life. I owe her so much more than this."

So many burning questions crowd her throat, but Shay swallows them all down. Even with her mother dead and her grandmother the incarnation of evil, she still has never gone without love and support from her dad and her friends. She can't imagine being in the world alone, and she can't imagine wanting to talk about it either.

So instead she leans her head on his shoulder. He stiffens a first, unused to contact she thinks, before relaxing again. His skin is sun-warmed against her cheek.

"Where did she go?"

"She's visiting family," he answers. "Another foster son, actually. His name is Alistair. He's grown now, but they remain close. It's his birthday, I think."

"It sounds like you're going to be stuck with her for the rest of her life."

"I am not opposed to the idea," he says.

A few minutes later Solas is back at it, sitting cross legged in the grass. Shay lounges on the swing, one foot on the ground to keep it swaying. In the next two hours she alternates between watching him paint and reading the Mary Oliver book. Sometimes Solas will explain parts of the process she missed and sometimes she'll ask questions, but most of the time it's peaceful and quiet. The early fall air stirs a gentle breeze that cuts the heat of the sun into something manageable.

There are worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Around four o'clock Solas puts the finishing touches on the fresco and stands up, stretching his arms over his head before bending his body in half to touch his toes. It shouldn't surprise her that his long, lean limbs are good for yoga. Shay's tried it before, but there's just too much of her that gets in the way.

Then he joins her on the swing. Shay hands him his water bottle, which he chugs.

"It's glorious," she says, trying hard not to look at his throat as he swallows.

The wall is a bloom of bright color, the gladiolas ten feet tall, sentinels to watch over the garden. A labor of love.

"Thank you," he says, wiping his mouth. "I hope it wasn't too boring. You were literally watching paint dry."

Shay could watch him paint for hours, seeing the color bloom to life under his hands, like magic. It makes her itch for a sketchbook, and she hasn't felt that in a long time.

"You are not boring, Solas."

He snorts. "I can list several people who would contradict that statement."

"You're not boring to _me."_

"I honestly do not understand how you think that,” he says, shaking his head. “You're so _bright_. You love and are loved by so many different people. Truly, someone like me should be beneath your notice."

It’s such a stark difference to his earlier arrogance. She doesn't think he's changed so much as he is finally letting her peek under the mask he's fixed so stubbornly to himself.

She reaches out and cups the side of his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "There's so much about you to love, Solas, if you would quit hiding. You're lucky I'm both curious and stubborn."

"I am lucky in far more than that."

He's not pulling away from her, just like he didn't in the library. Shay swallows, her own nerves fluttering in her gut, and then she leans forward and presses a sweet, gentle kiss on his generous mouth, lingering just long enough so he can't mistake it for something platonic. It’s much more tender than what she originally had in mind, but it fits in the moment.

When she pulls away, both of their faces are bright red. She can feel her cheeks burning just as his flush spreads to the tip of his ears.

Oh, mission accomplished. You could blow him over with a feather.

Just as she's thinking maybe she'll lean in for another one, Solas slides his hand across her cheek, sinking those long fingers into her hair, pulls her close --

And kisses the fucking breath out of her. Kisses her with all the tricks of an expert, with lips and teeth and tongue, kisses her until she's gasping against him and then pulls her _into his lap_ without breaking his hold on her and kisses her some more. 

His hands roam not with the fumbling grip of a novice, but with the planned expertise of someone who knows _exactly_ where he’s going. Fingertips skate over the shell of her ear and down her throat, thumbs burning across her collar bones. Hand spanning across her lower back to pull her flush against the warm, lean contours of his body.

Normally Shay can't stand to be outdone. But her brain has checked out and her body can do nothing but react and respond, a raft caught in a rip tide. If he had hair she would pull it -- instead her fingers dig into the front of his shirt and scratch down the back of his neck until he groans against her, a vibration she feels from his chest to hers.

It's only when the hand on her back caresses over her ass and trails fingertips down the back of her thigh in a way that makes her whole body tremble that Shay pulls back with a startled gasp.

For a moment they just stare at each other, their chests heaving, the only noise the cacophony (how the hell can she remember SAT words in a time like this?) of their labored breathing. Solas's eyes are wide and dark and hungry, and Shay thinks if she didn't have her father to answer to, she might let him eat her alive.

" _What_ \-- What was _that?"_ She demands instead, her voice almost squeaking.

Instantly his face narrows into concern. "I'm sorry. I took it too far. I didn't mean --"

He moves to extract her, but Shay grabs the front of his tunic.

"I don't care about _that_ . Where the fuck did you learn how to _kiss_ like that?!"

He tilts his head to the side. "Did you think I had never kissed someone before?"

"I --" There's no lying out of this one. "Yeah?"

"I think I'm a little insulted.” His eyebrows raise.

"Can you really blame me? You dress like you're about to do my taxes."

"Just because I dress differently from my peers doesn't mean I'm inexperienced."

"It's not just your clothes," she protests. "You're a giant nerd. People like you don’t think about relationships. They think about . . . books. You just seemed so . . . innocent."

"Innocent." he says, and there's a dangerous gleam in his eye that sends a flutter of excitement in her. He reaches out to twist one of her curls around his finger "If I told you the first time I saw you with your hair down that I imagined how it would look spread across my bedsheets, would you think me innocent?"

Oh shit, _what?_

He uses his grip on her hair to gently tug her forehead against his. "Would you think me innocent if I told you every filthy thought your cheerleading uniform inspires?"

Shay swallows, throat dry, voice gone. Her heart slams in her chest. Solas tilts his head and starts kissing her temple feather soft, until he gets to the shell of her ear,and her eyes flutter close.

"Would you think me innocent if I told you how so very close I came to hauling you up against those bookshelves in the library and worshipping you as you deserve?" he whispers right against her ear, and she squeaks, like some kind of _middle schooler_ who had never seen a shirtless guy before.

He pulls back, eyes tracing over her face.

"You're blushing," he notes with smug satisfaction. "Perhaps you're the one who is innocent after all."

Holy fucking goddamn shit. It's like her birthday and Wintersend all wrapped up together.

She licks her lips, and his gaze darts down to watch her. "You mean all that? You . . . you like me?"

God she really _does_ sound like a fucking middle schooler. This is embarrassing. This is _humiliating_. What is wrong with her? She was supposed to have the upper hand!

His brow furrows, and he tucks the curl behind her ear. "I like you very much."

"Even though I'm a short, stubby dwarf?"

"Have I not done enough to convince you of my attraction? Shay, every day with you is a test of my restraint. You drive me _insane_."

She gives him a crooked smile. "Even in my cheer uniform?"

“ _Especially_ in your cheer uniform,” he says, pained.

Well, she's definitely wearing it a lot more often from now on. He thought she was driving him insane before. Now it's fucking on. She's going to see just how long he can hold out before he loses his shit in the library and she gets to find out what he meant by "worshipping" her.

Except . . . is that all he wants? She's kissed a few friends for fun and practice, but she could never sustain it long term, not like Iron Bull and whatever he's got going with that prep school kid Dorian.

"Just so we're clear," she says, struggling to stay nonchalant. "Do you want to date me or do you just want to . . . kiss me?"

There's a moment of tense silence, and her stomach plummets. But then he cups her face, his palm spanning the entirety of her cheek.

"I want anything and everything you will give me," he says.

"I want to date," she admits.

A smile blooms on his face, unrestrained and uncomplicated. "Then we date."

"Just like that?"

"Do you want me on bended knee?"

"That comes later," she jokes.

" _You_ certainly could." His eyes glitter, and fuck, how did she not see this evil side of him before?

Shay hides her face in the crook of his neck. " _Oh my God, Solas!_ You can't just _say_ shit like that!"

"My apologies." He doesn't sound very sorry, but he rubs her back in slow, soothing strokes. "Do you want me to stop?"

She swallows. "No. I've heard all kinds of things from Iron Bull. It's just shocking to hear it come from you."

"Because I look so innocent?" he says wryly.

"Because you're saying it about _me."_

There's another long moment of silence. Solas's hands have drifted from her back to her hair, playing with the curls he's apparently so fascinated by.

"Wynne left me money for takeout if you ever came by," he says finally. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Shay lifts her head from the crook of his neck. Her thighs are starting to ache from straddling him. "You know food is the quickest way to my heart," she says.

"Excellent." He captures her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "That gives me two hours to prove my devotion to you. Shall we take this inside?"

She nods, her stomach a riot of butterflies. God she hasn't kissed anyone since spin the bottle at Varric's birthday last year.

In one fluid motion, Solas stands up, cradling her weight with a hand underneath her thighs. Shay scrambles for grip on his shoulders, hardly daring to believe this lanky, skinny nerd is carrying her rather generous weight without staggering.

He makes it all the way to the living room, Shay opening the back door for him, before setting her sweetly down onto the couch. She leans back on the cushions, eagerly reaching to pull his weight onto hers.

Nearly two hours later they answer the door for the pizza delivery with kiss-stung lips and red-tipped ears, Shay's hair loose and wild from his fingers. The guy just gives them a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow, and Solas tips him generously.

They fire up their favorite cooking competition, sitting cross legged on the carpet in front of the TV, the pizza box nestled in between them. 

Shay tamps down a smile as he blots grease with a napkin, and then a thought hits her like a needle to a balloon. She walked in with a sandwich and came out with a boyfriend.

Fucking hell. How is she going to explain _this_ to her dad?

“You really can pick them, huh?”

Sometimes, after home games, Maria will be waiting for Shay on the hood of her car, reading some true crime novel and looking like a pin up girl in a music video. They don’t talk as much as they used to -- family and school and wildly different social circles having slowly but steadily separated them. But they still find time for each other in stolen snatches.

“What does that mean?”

“Your boyfriend. He looks like he’s going to investigate your dad for tax evasion. Also how do you kiss him when he’s so high up?”

“We have to sit,” she admits, hopping up on the car. “But then I straddle him.”

Maria’s eyebrows climb up to her hair. “Shay Cadash, what does your father think of that?”

“He doesn’t. He thinks Solas is a clueless virgin.”

“ _Is he?_ ” Maria’s eyes glitter.

Shay gives her a wicked smirk. “I mean, I’m not sure about the virgin part, but he’s definitely _not_ clueless.”

“Wow.” Maria drawls. “Judging from those sweater vests, you wouldn’t think he had it in him.”

Shay sighs happily. “I know.”

Even though she’s exhausted and wants nothing more than to crawl into the shower and then into bed, Shay stretches out beside her cousin on the hood of the car, the stars winking above her. They rarely have these moments anymore, even now that Maria is dating Varric, her other oldest friend. 

“I’m sorry, I still can’t believe Uncle Anil let you even look at a boy, much less date one,” says Maria. “I think he was hoping you would go full lesbian and he’d never worry about teen pregnancy.”

“Ok, first of all he’s really chilled out in the last year or so. He’s been trying really hard to be cool with all my guy friends, so when I told him I wanted to date Solas, he only had a little aneurysm. It could have been so much worse. And he agreed that if Solas came over for dinner and didn’t seem like a psychopath or a rapist, I could date him.”

“Oh, to be a fly on the wall for _that_ dinner,” says Maria.

“Oh my God, I wish you could have been there. You could tell Dad was trying so hard not to get worked up about a boy coming over and he’s imaging all kinds of things about Solas and asking me all these questions and I won’t answer any of them. And then the doorbell rings and you should have seen his face when he saw that Solas was an elf.”

“You didn’t tell him Solas _was an elf?_ ”

“Nope. And it shocked him so bad he was practically speechless. Which gave Solas the opportunity to sweep in there with his best grandpa manners. I know Solas is a nerd and he’s a fussy old man stuck in a teenager’s body, but he really played shit up with my dad. By the end of dinner they were getting on like a house on fire -- I think Solas helped him with the Sunday crossword Dad’s been agonizing over because he refuses to google any of the answers.”

“So, when’s the wedding for those two?” 

Shay grins. “You know what’s even crazier? After Solas left, _I_ got the lecture about corrupting the innocent. Apparently I have to behave myself so Wynne doesn’t have an aneurysm and come after Dad.”

Together they cackle with laughter until Shay’s sides hurt, and it’s a glorious moment for them, happiness fizzing through her like the champagne her dad lets her have for New Year’s. It’s the kind of moment you tuck away for later. 

“Spend the night with me,” she says once their giggles have settled down. 

“I know I’m damn irresistible, Shay, but we’re cousins.”

Shay rolls her eyes and smacks Maria on the arm. “Come on, just like the old days. Bea can come too. I miss your sister.”

“She’ll be here next year,” says Maria, deflecting. 

“But that’s next year.”

Maria hesitates, and Shay knows why. After their dad took off when Shay and Maria were in the 6th grade, Shay’s dad tried to step in and help them. But Grandma Linnea threw an absolute fit every time Shay’s cousins came over, considering them undesirables because Uncle Roland didn’t make the kind of money his brother did. 

Eventually Maria and Bea stopped coming, and Shay has never forgiven Linnea for it. It’s her goal in life to drive her grandmother insane enough to move out on her own, but the old bat is just as stubborn as she is. And her dad doesn’t have the guts to stand up to his mother-in-law.

“Then I’ll go to your house,” says Shay. “I’ll grab some pizza on the way. Grandma Zarra won’t be too mad, will she?”

Even though Grandma Zarra is her grandmother too, it doesn’t feel that way most of the time. If anyone hated Grandma Linnea more than Shay it was Grandma Zara. 

“Your grandmother would flip if she knew you were with us,” says Maria. 

“Ask me if I give a fuck.”

Maria chews on her lip, weighing every outcome. Zarra didn’t dislike Shay, exactly, but dealing with the wrath of Linnea just got exhausting after a while.

“Free pizza,” Shay sings, nudging Maria with her shoulder. 

“It’s not free if I’m paying for half.”

“You’re not paying for shit.”

“The fuck I’m not.”

Shay wonders if there’s ever been a study on poverty’s influence on blind, stubborn pride. It would cost Shay nothing to buy two pizzas -- literally because her father would pay for it -- but it would cost Maria a chunk of her after school job money.

“Well, if you’re paying for half, that must mean you agreed to my sleepover.” 

Shay gives her cousin a shit-eating grin. 

“Fucking goddamn,” Maria mutters. “But you better spill _all_ the fucking dirt on this boyfriend. I want every detail.”

Shay squeals. “You got it!”

They climb into the car, Maria fiddling with the radio until she finds the classical station. Shay spares her a side-eyed glance as she backs out of the parking lot. 

“You know, that’s the same station Solas listens to,” she remarks idly. 

“What’s that’s supposed to mean? You calling me a nerd?”

Shay snorts. Maria is _definitely_ a nerd, even if she wears beat up leather jackets and sneaks a lighter into school every day. “Not at all. Just stating a fact. An interesting coincidence, if you will.”

“Well, I guess he can’t be too much of a loser,” Maria says. 

“Just a little bit of one,” Shay agrees.

The night stretches before them, wide and clear with the promise of pizza, and Shay rolls the windows down until her hair flies around her like she’s an evil sorcerer, and life is beautiful sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I would be a writer that played with other people's OCs but I have to admit that I loved writing Maria and Shay. 
> 
> If you liked Maria Cadash, then check her out in the fic Girl With The Arrow Tattoo by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (Manka). It's a retelling of Inquisition set in the Modern Day, and the way she merges magic and technology is amazing, the modern versions of the NPCs painfully accurate and best of all -- it's a Varricmance fic! God knows there isn't enough of that out there. It's in my bookmarks if you want to check it out! I highly recommend.


End file.
